The Big Day

I’m speeding down the highway. “No, no, no.” I mumble. “I can’t be late, it can’t happen like this.” An image materializes in my mind. My fiancé, Ruth, standing I the window of the chapel, staring out the window. With rain running down the windowpane, it makes it hard to see down into the valley through which the road snakes. Her bridesmaid rush to her side to complement her and comfort her while she stands in dismay. Her father, sitting in the chair, checking his watching and confirming his suspicions.

The car keeps going, until I see a trailer, walking down the road. Why me? I slow down to pass, so it’s a wedding I’m participating in, not a funeral. Just as I could see the last turn in the road, the barriers lower for the train crossing. I slump down in seat, tapping the steering wheel impatiently. I explode upwards in a fit of rage, exhibiting my frustration in that of an auditory medium. As the train passes, I could feel it, the doors closing. Just as that thought crept into my head, the gates raised, and I shot down the road like a bullet leaving gun.

I screech into the chapel, practically flying out my car to bound up the steps. I feel weightless, and really not that worried. I feel like I’ve made it, succeeded, that all was well. These were my thoughts prior to opening the door. That’s when I saw someone else at the altar. Who? What? She looks at me as if to say sorry sincerely. But it really comes off as ‘to bad so sad’. Her father, seems to be a little to pleased. I can’t even comprehend the situation. I was only a few minutes late, not a few years.